


The One Where Frank Was a Dragon

by dapatty



Series: The One With Dragons [1]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Fluff, Gen, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 09:57:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapatty/pseuds/dapatty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says on the tin.  Frank is a dragon and he hasn't told anyone. Well, at least until he absolutely has to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where Frank Was a Dragon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ermengarde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ermengarde/gifts).



> Birthday present for dearest Ermengarde. Early, because that's how I roll (nevermind this fic is LONG overdue for you bb) ♥ ♥ ♥ 
> 
> Beta'd by the fantastic s0cpupp3t. *smish*

Frank had always collected things. All sorts of stuff, from a rock on the Jersey shore--black and worn smooth by sand that he picked up when he was five-- to his grandfather’s pocket watch, to a marble Hambone gave him on the playground the first day of kindergarten. These bits and bobs he kept tucked away in an old wooden cigar box. Those little shiny pieces, mostly sentimental, were like treasure to him. Hell, he even thought of that box as a treasure chest. 

“Frankie, why do you have that box full of junk?” Hambone asked him about it once.

“It’s not junk,” Frank said. It wasn’t. It was just things that were _his_ that he felt like needed keeping. “It’s just something that I wanna keep.” He didn’t think about it; he didn’t have to. It was an instinct.

“The pocket watch is pretty cool though,” Hambone conceded and they went back to playing video games. 

He didn’t really dwell on the box or the things he added to it until he turned 13 and found out that dragons were real by turning into one. He guessed that explained the treasure hoard, as small as it was. Besides, it wasn’t like he was a big dragon anyway. 

Frank never did things the easy way. Maybe it was fate, or he just took that much relish in being a little shit. But really, it was probably more to do with him being a dragon than anything else. He didn’t think about it overmuch. He just wanted to do music for a living and be in bands. It was what he always wanted, and sometimes being a dragon got in the way of that.

And yeah, that had been kind of a surprise when he’d turned 13. Surely that should have come up in that whole puberty talk business? Like, “Yes, you’re going to get hair in new exciting places and maybe, if you’re very lucky or unlucky, you’ll also have wings and a tail.” You’d think someone would have mentioned that there was dragon in the family tree on his dad’s side, but no. It had been latent for the last three generations, believed to be a genetic fluke that had just worked its way back out and had just become another family legend. 

Frank had to learn about this shit from his Grandpa, whose granddad had been the most recent dragon anyone knew of in the family. There had been a diary and everything. A book of old family secrets and stories passed down about when his whole family had been shifters back in Italy. All kinds of shit that would have been absolutely unbelievable had Frank not shifted, scaring the shit out of himself, knocking over his desk and bedside lamp and found out that not only did he have kind of a sweet set of wings (totally batlike and wicked) but a tail too (destroyer of lamps and desks), which kind of made up for being such a small dragon. Seriously tiny, in his opinion. Not a knight-killing, Smaugesque monster of legend. He was still able to curl up on this twin sized bed, if a little awkwardly. He’d never admit he was disappointed that he didn’t end up much larger than a VW bug, not including the length of his tail and his long neck. At least his coloring was awesome; the black-emerald-gold sheen of his scales almost made up for the tininess. 

Somehow, he made it through high school mostly intact. Sure, he had quite a few anger issues, but he didn’t eat anyone (he was a vegetarian, after all) or lighting them on fire (he wasn’t actually a very impressive fire breather-more of a smolderer than flamer--only a little ironic). He got into a good college, like his folks wanted, and started a band, which was okay until his band fell apart. But the Ways called him to be in their band and Toro was in it and Toro was the shit.

Aside from the earnest eyes and Gerard saying, “Frankie, you should be in _our_ band. You’re out biggest fan already and it would be awesome if you were and it’s like _destiny_ Frankie, seriously,” Otter was in My Chem. Frank was kind of reassured about Otter being in it because, well, dude was an otter shapeshifter and while he wasn’t a dragon, he was _different_ and knew what Frank was from the get-go. 

The only other person that had done that was Jamia, back in high school, and she was just a human and still one of his best friends. Of course, he wasn’t to ever speak about her magic again. It was unspeakable, unless it was to do with baking then it was awesome and conversation worthy. The formica bar at her parents house would never be the same and therefore its on the list of Things Unspeakable (with a side of Terrifyingly Awesome). Also, nobody looked at you funny if you said somebody’s vegan lemon bars were magical, even if you meant it literally. 

So, because Otter was _other_ , Frank didn’t really think about telling the other guys about his whole dragon thing. Things were going too well, and they were working so hard, and there just never seemed to be time to say, “Hey guys, by the way, I’m a dragon.” Sure, he felt a little guilty about it occasionally, for no reason he could pinpoint. He wasn’t exactly lying about who he was. He was totally himself, all sarcasm and wit and uncontainable energy, just minus that dragon factor. It wasn’t as though he could walk around in dragon form in public. It was just a piece of him that hardly mattered anyway. No one even believed dragons existed anymore. Not like werewolves or any other kinds of shifters even though there was hardly anyone who was public about being something other than human. 

Of course there were times Frank thought about telling his friends. Times when the words were on the tip of his tongue, like in the early morning hours after practice wedged into the ratty old couch in Gerard’s basement, their knees touching. Frank practically floating, riding that edge of buzzed on beer and tingly from the weed. Gerard talking with his hands, “Wouldn’t it be cool though, Frankie. If unicorns were _real_? I mean Otter _is_ an otter. It’d be so rad if unicorns are a thing, right?”

“Yeah, totally,” Frank agreed. Hell, for all Frank knew, there were unicorns. Lots of them. Just like roaming the plains and shit, and only appearing to virgins. Mikey thought there were unicorns, anyway--not that he’d be able to see one now, if that virgin thing was an actual rule. That dude had surprisingly impressive game for a kid with such wack hair. (Frank knew he didn’t have any room to talk, but Frank had the usual amount of game, you know?) Frank took a steadying breath and asked, “Other things would be cool too, you know? Like dragons. It be rad if there were dragons, right?” Then he held his breath. 

“Fuck yeah, Frankie,” Gerard agreed emphatically. “It’d be so rad. _If only_.” Gerard said the last so wistfully, Frank almost said the words. Almost told his secret. He was almost certain, that out of anybody, Gerard wouldn’t freak out. He wouldn’t even blink. He’d probably just think it was cool and then go back to talking about vampires. But maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he would freak out and tell Frank to leave and mean it because Frank’s omission was pretty much lying. That maybe was just too much of an unknown, it left him frozen in fear at the thought. 

So he tried to push that part of himself down. Forgot about it. He couldn’t even fly, so there wasn’t any reason to want to stretch his wings the farther the van took them from home.

But the thing about denying a part of yourself was that it only hurt you. In Frank’s case, it made it all the easier for him to get sick and stay sick. It was his body’s warning system, symptoms of his magical equilibrium. By denying that part of himself, his entire being only fought that much harder to right itself and get him to change, which only made Frank dig in his heels for dear life. He was stubborn to his very core, and it hurt him.

Their tours were getting longer, and they were getting farther and farther away from Jersey each time. Frank always forced himself to wait until he was back home at his mom’s to shift where he knew it was safe. Where his band couldn’t see. There just wasn’t a place for that on the road. He wouldn’t fit in the van as a dragon and he never got a room to himself, and no one was drunk enough to forget rooming with an actual dragon.

This last time he came home, looking exhausted with a cold that he’d had for three weeks, his mom just looked at him and said, “Oh, Frankie.” She sounded so resigned and sad for him. He’d just shrugged, dragged himself upstairs to his room and curled up as a dragon beside his bed, nose tucked behind his tail hating himself for feeling so much better to finally be able to stretch. 

Back on tour, Otter kept shooting him concerned looks, judging looks, like he thought Frank was being stupid. Maybe he was, but he’d been fine this long -- until he wasn’t fine. It had been after he'd had bronchitis for the third time in two months. Even Ray's hair had started to look concerned. 

Frank knew he should do something about it, would have to do something about it. He was sick because it had been too long since he'd shifted and it wouldn't have been a problem if he could just get a motel room to himself and Gerard's sad and concerned eyes could stop any time now, thank you. Gerard practically watched Frank’s every breath. Any wild notion Frank had of sneaking out of the room in the middle of the night was often thwarted by Gerard cuddling him like an octopus, holding Frank to reassure himself that Frank was mostly okay. 

Otter ended up being the one to put his proverbial foot down and swung into an abandoned rest stop at 3am. "Frank, just fucking tell them,” turning around from the drivers seat to glare at him. 

Three sets of eyes peeked up from over the seats to look at Frankie, tucked in a small nest of blankets and propped up on his backpack. 

"Tell us what?" Gerard asked watching as Frank slumped even more into the bench seat, trying to be still and not bring on another coughing fit. Everything hurt and he just wanted to sleep for a million years if he could just breathe. He couldn’t remember what it was like to take a deep breath. Here Frank was, just trying to concentrate on getting enough oxygen, and Otter was trying to ruin Frank’s entire life. 

“There’s nothing to tell,” Frank croaked, trying his best to glare at Otter in the rearview. Otter did not look impressed. (Frank would give him that, even years later. Otter was a good guy. Some things just didn’t work out.) 

"Frank," Otter’s expression was stony, but Frank could smell the worry under all the boy musk and general Way-stink of the van.

"They won't believe me," Frank said miserably into the cushion. Maybe if he curled up even tighter, hid, then Otter would leave him alone. 

"You're gonna show them because you have to," Otter warned. "Don't make me call your mom."

"Fuck," Frank said. That was just playing dirty. He almost wanted to punch Otter or cry or both.

“It’s okay, Frankie,” Gerard said, head peeking over the seat.

“Whatever it is, just let us help, man,” Ray said and fuck if he didn’t smell worried too, under his reassurance. Using his sense of smell made it worse, made the dragon inside him itch to get out. If he wanted, he could stop fighting it right now. He could open his wings. He could feel better, and risk losing his job and chosen family. But he would also stop feeling like he would barf up a lung any second. 

“Okay,” Frank said and started to make his way out of the van, crawling over a box of merch, Ray's backpack, and Mikey in the process. Mikey gave his arm a squeeze as Frank stumbled out into the grass beside the van and Frank tried to smile at him but it he was sure it looked a little lopsided. "So like, don't freak out too much." He pulled off his shirt. The sweats he was wearing were almost dead anyway.

Three sets of eyes watched him steadily and barely even blinked at that comment. Otter just sat with his eyes looking out the windshield, probably keeping watch even at this hour. Or maybe not wanting to look at Frank. Frank had always had trouble reading the guy.

He took a breath as deep as his lungs would allow, then he let go the tightness in his chest that he felt like he had been holding for months and just kind of... _unfolded_ himself, letting his wings and tail out. He stretched out on all fours and noticed he was about half the size of the van, not including his tail. He could look over the van when he stretched his neck and that even felt nice. He shook himself, flapping his wings a little, then settled down, head on his front claws, trying to look less monsterish.

"Holy shit," Ray said, mouth agape. Frank almost wanted to congratulate himself. It was hard to surprise Toro this much. A warmth spread through him, healing fire burning through his lungs that had ached for so long. He coughed smoke as delicately as he knew how.

"Oh," Mikey said, like it was perfectly normal for your friend to turn into a dragon in the middle of the night in a deserted field. Almost like he expected it. Mikey scooted over and climbed over the merch and gear, stumbling out of the van and into Frank. “Shit, sorry, Frankie.”

Frank steadied him with his tail and Mikey grinned at him. “Cool.”

"I want to draw you," Gerard whispered reaching a hand out and Frank leaned in to meet Gerard’s hand, his fingers resting on Frank’s nose. Frank snorted. Of course, what a Gerard thing to say.

He had his tail wrapped around Mikey, Gee’s fingers petting his nose, Ray a little freaked out but not running away, Otter in the front seat looking relieved.

********

After they all got settled back in the van, Frank feeling immensely better--only having a runny nose that would probably take care of itself-- Gerard curled with him in the back seat. He was holding Frank’s beat up cigar box, carefully. He looked up at Frank, biting a little on his lip.

“Yeah,” Frank nodded. “You can open it.”

“You always have these with you,” Gerard said, lifting the lid and gently thumbing over the pocket watch, a bright green glass elephant Jamia gave to him back in high school, an orange wax lion with a wonky face he had gotten from one of those vending machines somewhere near Buffalo. 

“Yeah,” Frank tried not to fidget. He hadn’t really looked inside the box in months. Hadn't needed too. Carrying the box with him was more habit than anything after getting into the band. He had more tangible treasure now. It was them. His band. He’d picked them and held them close, and they were going to make it. He could feel it. 

He had a feeling where Gerard was going with this. Now that Gerard knew he was a dragon it wouldn’t take very long at all for him to put it all together. 

“It’s your treasure hoard?” Gerard asked. 

Frank nodded then looked up at Gerard, but Gerard just smiled at him said, “Cool,” and closed the box. He tucked it back into Frank’s backpack and then offered Frank his blanket. 

They wedged themselves more comfortably into the seat. Frank fell asleep from one breath to the next.

******

Otter didn’t stay with the band for long after that. Europe was just too much for him. Frank never found out exactly what the deal was and felt a little bad. Frank figured that maybe Otter missed his pod too much. Otter had a fuckload of family and it seemed the further away he got, the more ocean between them, was too far. Too much. The guy just wasn’t happy with them anymore. And after looking back at the way he’d made himself sick being away from home, Frank couldn’t blame him.

It was cool, though, because they ended up with Bob, and Bob was totally a werewolf.


End file.
